Isla’s POV
The drive was quiet. Too quiet.
The taxi hummed along the empty streets, headlights slicing through the dark like knives. I pressed my palms against my knees, gripping them so tightly I could feel the tension in my forearms.
I didn’t want to be here. But I had to be.
Every turn, every light, every shadow reminded me that stepping away from my life didn’t make me safe. It only gave danger more room to circle. The message from my mother burned in my mind like a brand: a location, precise, unavoidable. I’d ignored her for months, sometimes even years, yet she always resurfaced at the perfect, worst possible moment.
I imagined her now: poised, calculating, hands folded as if she was orchestrating this whole thing like a symphony.
She literally summoned me. And I was going.
